


i think you need to settle down

by westhouse



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Friendly Fire, Gen, Harry Isn't Dead I Swear, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 14:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16745461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westhouse/pseuds/westhouse
Summary: Can you accidentally Phantom Thread someone? In which Harry gets stabbed by accident and everyone's inappropriately gay about it.





	i think you need to settle down

**Author's Note:**

> Plot floats in a void or doesn't exist. For @cabwaylingo's request during Shit Happens Week 2018. un-beta'd, sorry if it's a little bit fritzy.

It’s January and Merlin has not stopped smiling vaguely to himself when he says, “We’ll be sending Galahad.” The only thing that’s changed is that people have stopped asking  _ which one? _ because they have proven quite plainly that he always,  _ always _ means both. Eggsy and Harry have become a unit, at the younger’s insistence, and much to the surprise of every Kingsman agent, it has worked. Harry’s learned to cope with the missing eye and the latent issues which come with a brain injury; Eggsy has learned to subtly compensate for everything he can’t fix.

Gradually the two of them have been sent on more and more complicated missions, never once without abject success. Maybe it’s making them overconfident.

It’s definitely making them overconfident, because they’re two against ten right now, and Harry is calling a brawny goon with a broken nose “impolite.” To Eggsy’s delight, he is also  _ grinning. _ He turns to make sure the bat-wielding fellow on Harry’s blind side isn’t getting too cocky, and shoots him in the foot for good measure. In the meantime, Harry has swung broken-nose in front of him to take a thrown projectile, and the guy is shouting with what seems more like anger than pain.

Eggsy’s brain short circuits in response to adrenaline sometimes—which he figures is what’s meant to happen. It makes him quick to react, leaves remorse behind until he’s done fighting, and it stops him from having to worry too much about the details of what’s going on until it’s over. It’s also saved him from reacting to a couple of bullet wounds in the past, which shouldn’t be a good thing, but… the work demands what the work demands. He has a reaction to most things, a reasonable, workable spy reaction.

But the lights go out suddenly, and the room is  _ pitch _ black.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Harry Hart thinks when everything goes dark is,  _ Shit. Not that one, too. _ He holds his breath momentarily as he ducks down, sweeping a nearby henchman’s legs out from under him and hearing him hit the concrete floor hard. He was tracking the position of at least the four nearest him, but there’s too much commotion in the room to be certain now. The best he can do is get out of the way—something he rises to try to do, while simultaneously, Merlin’s voice over the feed—

“You’ve gone dark. Galahad, what’s going on?”

Immediately to his left he’s hearing Eggsy say, “No idea, think they’ve killed the lights to get away,” which is when he realises exactly how close his partner is. That’s not good. They’ve well enough established that they’re both forces of nature in their own right and, when fighting large groups, should keep apart. There’s less chance for friendly fire that way. Which is ironically exactly what Harry is thinking when he tries to move past him, barking a warning command, and he hears Eggsy shout in surprise. Which is when the pain kicks in.

As someone who has been on-and-off experiencing vague chronic pains since he was shot, he barely thinks about it until he realises the site of the pain is now wet and hot. The smell of blood is barely recognisable over the suddenly  _ very _ present smell of Eggsy’s cologne—Kingsman-issued cologne, this is dizzily funny in the moment—and then he forces out, “Shit.”

Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. The other must still be on the knife. The room has gone deathly silent except for their breathing.

“Their heat signatures are gone. You’ve let them get away. Get after them,” Merlin says, sounding frustrated instead of worried. Harry sort of wants to laugh, because of course he’d be annoyed with them—have they made a single mistake in months? He attempts to find the words, or maybe to step back. But there’s a non-zero chance that knife hit a part of his body he actually needs, judging by how suddenly awful he feels and by how excellent a tactician Eggsy has proven himself to be.

Eggsy seems to get there first. He fails to be calm and collected like he’s meant to be. “Merlin—Merlin, I don’t give a  _ fuck _ , get the lights on. Can you get the lights on? Harry is—” it seems like he means to say  _ hurt _ but he can’t say it. His hand’s left the knife.  _ Oh, it must be bad _ , Harry thinks, because he’s focusing on details in a way that speaks of a serious injury. A few seconds later the lights flicker on. He is staring Eggsy in the face, and the young man’s wide-eyed and terrified, hand’s still on his shoulder, tighter now, and...

And he refocuses, swallowing thickly and grimacing through the pain. He doesn’t glance down at the wound. That’s historically  _ never _ been a good idea. “Breathe,” he cautions him hoarsely, gripping his arm and then letting out a slow breath himself. At the end of the breath he feels a sharp stabbing pain, evidence that something’s gone terribly wrong, but he breathes in again because he has to. “I’ll be fine. Breathe.”

Tears immediately spill over, and seemingly without thinking Eggsy shakes him once, not very hard. “Shut up,” he says, the words more tumbling out of his mouth than anything else, “shut up, you’re not fuckin’ telling me—Harry, I’m so sorry, oh fuck…” At the opposite end of the spectrum of panic, Eggsy is staring at the wound instead of Harry’s face. He buried the knife in deep and he is clearly starkly aware of that.

“Focus. Please.” This comes out harsher than he intends it to, and he tries to settle himself. It’s hard with the stab wound. It’s been a long time since he’s been hurt this badly; he’d had an excellent record before being shot, and had been quite proud of it. However many missions Merlin is running right now, it has to be too many. “Merlin. I’m going to need…” His voice gives way to coughing suddenly, unexpectedly, and then he’s leaning hard against Eggsy. To his credit, he tries to hold him up. 

“Don’t talk. I’m sending Lancelot in to get you out. Hang in there.” He can’t detect even a note of concern in Merlin’s voice and he worries about that. All sorts of things are  _ glaring _ red flags at the moment.

Then suddenly he’s on the floor—or he’s in Eggsy’s lap, maybe?—and everything’s dark again. He struggles for words a second. “The lights?” He asks, sounding more like a statement than a question as he tries to think past the haze in his mind. It speaks of pain, heat where the knife is, and cold creeping past his hands. His fingers search for Eggsy’s lapel and he holds on.

“It’s okay,” Eggsy says hastily, sounding like a liar, sounding like he can’t breathe either. “It’s—you were out for a second. Don’t do that again. Please don’t do that again, stay with me. Rox is gonna be here soon, she’s gonna get us out of here.” He shudders in his protege’s arms and then doesn’t  _ stop _ shuddering, letting out a pained hiss when Eggsy responds by pulling him in closer. He feels him press his face against the side of his head, whispering placating words into his hair. Some rogue part of his brain thinks,  _ this would be nice if not for the stab wound. _

“It’s alright,” he whispers, though he didn’t mean to be that quiet. “It’s alright.”

“I’m such an idiot,” replies Eggsy, and then huffs and finds his bare wrist beneath his suit jacket, holds on. His thumb runs over the bottom of it in an action that is either self-soothing or reassuring. “ _ You’re _ an idiot. Don’t fuckin’ die on me, don’t you die of a stupid fucking knife wound, I’ll bring you back an’ I’ll kick your ass.”

Harry tries to laugh at that and swallows back the agony that follows. Mutters, “I’ll hold you to that.”

He’s thinking about the proximity and how ironically lovely it is, how he’d maybe volunteer to get stabbed again just for the sake of it, when the scope of his world narrows. For a second it’s just the feeling of Eggsy’s hands holding him too tightly. Then it’s nothing.


End file.
